


Long Capitulation

by spectrifical



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrifical/pseuds/spectrifical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy avoided celebrating the winter holidays with almost as much enthusiasm as Jim.  So why was Jim the only one with the reputation as the Academy's resident curmudgeon this time of year?  Bones obviously deserved it, too.  Jim would know.  Almost two and a half years of friendship was proof enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Capitulation

_12/18/57 17:03 – Leonard H. McCoy_

_Bones,  
Are you obligated to offer assistance if I tell you that I’m going to strangle my roommate? Like, does the Hippocratic Oath apply? Because I’m going to throttle him if you don’t help me._

_I’m just wondering. Hypothetically speaking. Typing. Hypothetically typing._

_Send liquor.  
Jim_

_12/18/57 18:21 – Leonard H. McCoy_

_You know what? It’s cool. I’ll deal with it.  
Jim_

Jim sighed, sliding further down into his pillows as though that would help him with his current predicament. At times like this, Jim usually gave in and snuck into Bones’s apartment just to have a few hours to himself. Jim deserved a reprieve after everything he’d put up with since sending Bones that first message over an hour ago. Frankly he needed the quiet. If his brain saw fit to remove the questionable image of Gary Mitchell in a headband sporting garish red and twinkling antlers as well, that would be okay, too, but he’d settle for the quiet. He could at least guarantee that much for himself. He knew better than to expect anything more. Especially when he’d still be wrestling with the memory of an ugly sweater, a necklace made of tinsel, and mistletoe tucked behind the guy’s ear.

“You should come,” Gary said, dangling a second pair of antlers from his fingers, grinning down at Jim like the Christmas addled moron he was. “There’s gonna be mistletoe.” He flicked the piece secured to the side of his head by the antlers and waggled his eyebrows. “ _More_ mistletoe anyway.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Like he needed a sad looking plant to make his romantic overtures for him. Please. “Get out of here, Mitchell.”

“Just thought I'd ask. See if we'd get ourselves a real Christmas miracle this year. Jim Kirk, celebrating the holidays,” Gary answered, waving his hand in an arch to punctuate his point, unperturbed as always by Jim’s dour demeanor. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Jim might have felt a twinge of guilt, but then Gary continued to putter uselessly around the room, whistling in a terrible off key to a holiday tune playing only in his head. Jim tried to focus on his PADD, but Gary sparkled in his periphery, too, undoing Jim’s concentration with every step he took, blinding Jim with flash after flash of reflected light even though Jim reclined in his bed in the far corner, well out of Gary’s way.

Jim’s patience finally buckled under the pressure and ran screaming into the hills where Jim might never find it again. Unable to stand the force of Gary’s gaiety any longer, he rolled to his feet, picking up his bag from the foot of the bed where he’d abandoned it earlier. He shoved his PADD inside with more vehemence then the thing deserved and made for the door, only stopping long enough to pocket his comm and toss off a less than genial goodbye. “See ya, Mitchell. And if you so much as dry heave in our bathroom tonight, I will end you. Don’t think I won’t know.” Hopefully Jim wouldn’t be coming back until tomorrow when it wouldn't matter anymore. “I’ll know.”

Gary nodded as he twisted the tinsel around his neck into what he must have considered a more pleasing configuration considering the pleased smile that bloomed across his face. It looked no better to Jim than the previous incarnation did. It might even have been worse. Not that Jim said anything to that effect.

When Gary registered Jim’s not so fair farewell, he executed a sharp salute and offered a sarcastic, “Aye aye, Captain Grumpypants,” in return. Jim deserved no less. Even he could admit that much.

“Ugh,” Jim muttered to himself as he crossed the quad to Bones’s much coveted single dorm, complete with all the rooms a grown person typically required to live life fully. Most days, Jim envied him the luxury, but tonight Jim was just grateful.

He knew of no better place to go for quiet during holidays than Bones’s apartment. Bones took no pleasure in Halloween or Thanksgiving, New Year’s, the Fourth of July, an antiquated yet bizarrely popular pastime for a lot of students seeking novelty and stupid thrills, nor even end of terms, which might as well have been a holiday considering how seriously cadets took celebrating it. Not that Jim would know anything about that. Forcing four years of training into three years of class time left Jim only the memory of school breaks past with which to console himself. He hardly had time to breathe, let alone party through all that free time. Next time he took up a dare and then shot off at the mouth about it, he’d think twice. Bones’s only excuse was a curmudgeonly distaste for fun and a penchant for workaholism.

While Jim worked on independent study projects and simulations or just got ahead on reading assignments for the next term, Bones worked in the hospital, taking as many shifts as the administrators would give him. And at Christmas time, his fierce work schedule seemed to double with so many people looking to get out of their shifts. Bones even blocked out hours upon hours of time in the research labs to get ahead on whatever papers percolated away in that brain of his. Jim suspected the same hectic routine held true this year as Bones never took more than a few minutes to answer Jim’s messages unless he was busy.

Once Jim reached Bones’s apartment he keyed in the passcode with practiced ease. The door slid open to expose a brightly lit room, from which the scent of pine and cinnamon emanated. Simulated firelight flickered and crackled from the corner of the room where Bones’s vid unit usually sat. Jazz music played quietly in the background, far classier than Gary’s horrible butcher job of a tune, but still identifiably Christmas-y to Jim’s ears.

Momentarily thrown by this development, Jim just stood in the doorway. The door beeped in displeasure until he regained his wits and walked all the way into the apartment allowing the door to complete its function and shut. Bones stared at him from the kitchen, holding a truly ancient device over a glass of cream colored liquid. A blush suffused his features as though Jim had caught him at something more embarrassing than grating nutmeg into eggnog. At least Jim thought that was what Bones was doing. Jim couldn't be sure considering he was a 23rd century man with access to 23rd century culinary technology.

Jim fought the urge to voice the disbelief lodged in the back of his throat. Unlike the green monstrosity Gary wore tonight, the sweater Bones wore actually suited him, a fine knit charcoal grey that fit his frame with the perfect amount of ease, accentuating both his broad shoulders and trim waist in a way that screamed expensive or handmade. Jim figured it for a gift as Bones didn’t express nearly as much taste when he selected his own clothing. Knowing Bones’s family, someone had made it for him.

Bones took Jim’s presence in stride once he’d grappled with its unexpectedness. His surprised expression relaxed into something not quite a frown, but not quite a smile either. “Jim,” he said, his no-nonsense tone as fixed in place as the ‘I mean business’ eyebrows. He didn’t tell Jim to fuck off, but if Jim said the wrong thing now no doubt he would. Jim knew this mood well. Any wrong move could mean Jim’s eviction from sanctuary. And while Gary might have gone to the party by now, he would be back, probably accompanied by another cadet equally decked out in holiday compliant accoutrements. If Jim returned to his dorm late enough into the night he could avoid any further trauma, he might be safe, but he didn’t want to risk it. This required delicacy.

“Hey, Bones.” Not the greatest opening gambit, but it would do. “That spiked?” he asked, pointing at the eggnog now in Bones’s hand.

“Not yet,” Bones answered dubiously, peering down into his glass, swirling the liquid back and forth, as though the source of his distrust could be found there. “Could be though. You want some?”

“Sure,” Jim said as evenly as he could manage. Jim hated eggnog. No doubt Bones would just give him the liquor if he asked, but it didn’t seem right to demand the booze.

While Bones messed around in his kitchen, Jim flopped down on the couch, dropping his bag at his feet, feeling awkward around Bones for the first time since their acquaintance began. Bones didn’t strike Jim as the kind of guy to go in for all this. And while Bones’s apartment looked nowhere near as garish as his own, it still suggested the kind of fondness for Christmas that Jim just couldn't share.

Jim brooded as Bones presumably went through the trouble of properly doctoring Jim’s eggnog, which Jim appreciated. If anyone could make eggnog palatable, it was Bones. But then Bones returned with a tumbler of the eggnog and an empty low ball glass pinched between his fingers, a bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm, and his own eggnog in the other hand. He lined the first three items up on the coffee table in front of Jim, and gestured at them with his free hand while he took a sip of his drink.

“Didn’t figure you for an eggnog guy,” Leonard said more sardonically than Jim believed necessary. “No point wasting good liquor in a drink you might not like, but you’re more than welcome to try it and then spike it if it passes muster. Dad had it transported over a little while ago. Old family recipe, won’t give it to me ‘til his dying day.”

Jim lifted the chilled glass close to his face, inspecting it and sniffing at the contents. The nutmeg dominated, leaving him no better informed than if he’d not smelled it at all. Then he took a sip and found it tasty enough to continue drinking, momentarily forgetting the whiskey. “This is good. How’s your dad? You talk to him today?”

“Yeah. He’s the same cheery bastard he always is. Won’t be on planet on Christmas, so he’s having dinner with the missus and her family today,” Bones answered, full smile fixed on his face. The tiny crinkles forming around his eyes suggested genuine pleasure at the thought of his father and step-family enjoying the holidays together. “Sounded a bit tipsy when I talked to him,” Bones added, lips twitching diplomatically. “Always a good sign. Says hello, by the way, and happy holidays.”

Jim’s stomach warmed at the thought that Bones’s dad would care enough to direct a message his way. He didn’t know David McCoy well, but they’d talked a time or two when Jim happened to be over during a call and Jim had liked him immensely, the very image of an older, though no wiser, Leonard McCoy, every bit as genial as Bones rarely let himself be. Jim would like to meet him one day.

“So why aren’t you back there?” Jim asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “This is the first time I’m even hearing you talk about them being around during the holidays.”

“Ah, hell, Jim. It was short notice. They only came in from their trip to Europe yesterday. I didn’t even think they’d be hitting Georgia at all before leaving again for parts unknown. I put in for my holiday shifts at the hospital weeks ago. Didn’t seem right to move things around again and disappoint everyone who’d already made plans with their families.”

Jim mulled this over for a moment. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know, man. Seems to me you like Christmas. You have cousins and aunts and uncles. Why not take some time off and see them? Sucks your old man’s never there, but at least you wouldn’t have to drink eggnog in your apartment all by yourself.” As Jim spoke, he felt an uncomfortable sympathy with Bones. His own mom rarely made it back to Earth during the holidays anymore. She’d tried when he was younger, but neither of them cared enough to make more than the barest effort at a holiday get together. With just the two of them and Frank, there never seemed to be a point.

Bones shook his head. “Nah. I’m fine right where I am.” He glanced over at Jim, determination solidifying his features, as though daring Jim to say otherwise.

“Okay, but what about parties? Someone in off-campus housing is hosting one for all the sad sacks stuck here over the break.” Jim waved his hand at the door. “Why don’t you go out, celebrate with them?”

“I know about that party. Uhura invited me,” Bones said as easy as anything, like Bones always got invited to parties while Jim found out second hand from _Gary_. Scratching his ear, he said, “We’re sad sacks now? Gee, Jim. Anyone ever tell you you’re a joy to be around during the holidays?” Then he grinned, a glint of evil mischievousness in the action. “I’m telling Uhura you said that.”

Jim manfully ignored the threat, choosing instead to focus on the important thing here. “Do you want to go or not?”

“Not, Jim, obviously. Or I’d be there already.” Bones arched an eyebrow at him. “As you well know. I just want to relax, drink this eggnog I’ll never know how to make because my father is a spiteful old man, and maybe talk to my good friend Jim Kirk about something other than my holiday plans. Think that can be arranged?”

“In a minute,” he said. A hundred questions zipped through his brain and he wanted answers to every last one of them. But only one was important enough to voice despite of Bones’s request. “Why’d you hide all this from me?” he asked, nodding at Bones as though his body encompassed the entirely of Jim’s problem.

Bones snorted indelicately and barked out a laugh before he could control himself. It didn’t surprise Jim. Bones only ever laughed in disbelief. And Bones had a lot of disbelief in Jim regarding this topic apparently. “You’re kidding, right? I wasn’t hiding anything, you melodramatic asshole.”

“I never heard about your private little shindigs,” Jim said. “I didn’t even know you celebrated.”

“I hardly consider a glass of eggnog and some music a week before Christmas celebrating.”

“I hardly consider that an answer.”

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones said, pushing back his bangs with contempt. “You’re always busy studying. And nine times out of ten I’m right there with you, but that’s no reason to force your hand on the tenth just because I’ve chosen to stay here during Christmas and you’re about the only other person who sticks around over breaks I’d even want to bother 'celebrating' with." Bones lifted his hands, forming quotation marks with his fingers even though one hand still held his glass. "I’m not in the business of making you miserable even if you’d like to claim otherwise every time I have a hypo with your name on it.”

Huh. Okay. That almost made sense to Jim and it was a nice enough thought. Maybe. But a curl of doubt wriggled around in Jim’s gut. Friends normally didn’t feel the need to hide—and Bones was hiding this, whether he admitted it or not—their holiday plans. And though Bones was as private a man as Jim knew, no one was that private about such an innocuous topic without a reason. Jim considered his own behavior for a moment, the snide dismissals and the shortness with which he treated anything that even aspired to delusions of holiday grandeur.

“I’m an asshole,” he concluded. No wonder Bones had never said anything. Jim probably would have laughed in his face if Bones had offered anything resembling an invitation.

“Now you’re just repeating me,” Bones said teasingly. “Look, you don’t like Christmas. Considering your many other less than charming attributes, I’d hardly single this one out as the deciding factor,” Bones continued blithely, totally inviting the shove Jim gave him in retaliation. Bones covered the top of his glass with his free hand and swayed with the force of Jim’s push, huffing out something that could almost be called a chuckle before kicking at Jim’s ankle in retaliation.

“I’m charming,” Jim said.

“When you want something maybe,” Bones retorted without any heat. In fact, the fondness with which he spoke took the sting out of the rebuke. Then he sobered appreciably. “Obviously this is bothering you, but it’s not a big deal. I’m not out drowning my Christmas sorrows, ruing the day I became best friends with Ebenezer Scrooge—”

“Who?” Jim asked, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar reference.

Bones just stared blankly before shaking his head and pressing forward. “Guy who hates Christmas. It doesn’t matter. The point is,” and at this proclamation he paused, pushing at Jim’s forehead with his index finger, which Jim batted away immediately, “you’re overthinking this. I happen to like taking holiday shifts. It’s nice not having the same conversation with twenty different people at Christmas dinner back home. And getting a whole batch of this eggnog to myself because my dad feels bad about living his life has definitely been a plus. So enjoy it and consider yourself lucky that Gary’s your only obnoxious friend around here.”

Jim considered this idea, divorcing himself from his distaste for the season long enough to realize it wasn’t so bad. He liked spending time with Bones and it didn’t seem like a guy in a Santa costume would pop out of Bones’s closet just to annoy him. Jim couldn’t say the same for his own room. Gary’s cheery disposition during the winter months made Jim believe anything was possible.

“Okay,” he said. He could enjoy this eggnog and the music, which really wasn’t that bad. Must’ve been old as dirt, but it sounded nice all the same if Jim allowed himself the concession. Even the pine-scented air offend his sensibilities less the more he thought about it.

“Okay?” Bones parroted back at him in disbelief.

Jim nodded, committed now to following this experiment through to the end. Frowning, he added, “How’d you know it was Gary?”

“You think I don’t know when you’ve camped out in my apartment for a few hours? You’ve roomed with Gary for three years now and every winter there’s always one day you can’t stand it anymore and have to get out. It’s the same day he’s wearing an elf costume or has a pin that spouts off Christmas music with the press of a button. And it’s the same day I come home to find my apartment in better condition than I left it in while a touch of my liquor stash has been liberated. I may not be you, but I’m no slouch neither.”

“You got me, Bones,” Jim said, laughing a little at himself in the face of this role reversal. He’d always been the one who noticed everything. Seemed like Bones had a few tricks of his own. Jim should’ve known better. Bones may not have been Jim, but he certainly qualified as an expert in seeing through Jim’s bullshit.

“Damned right, I do,” he said. “Now finish your eggnog. My dad’s having a heart attack right now and he doesn’t even know it’s because you’re letting that stuff get warm.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quiet settled in for a moment before Bones spoke again, though he kept his attention on the fire rather than offer it up to Jim. “Dad sent some pecan pie, too,” he said, voice deceptively light for that particular bombshell.

“That so?” Jim asked, carefully modulating his tone to mask his desire to force Bones to bring it out immediately. Based on Bones’s vehement refusal to eat the Academy cafeteria’s crime against pecans—Bones’ words, not Jim’s, Jim thought the pecan pie there tasted fine—Jim had always been curious to know what made Bones avoid it like a particularly virulent plague. Three years later and Bones still swore he hadn’t had a piece of pecan pie since that first week of classes, that he’d only eat his dad’s pie if the stuff out here all tasted like that. Needless to say, Jim wanted to experience the kind of pie that made a person shun a whole class of pies just because it wasn’t the same.

“Yep.” Bones glanced at him then, eyes assessing Jim. “Stay a while. I’ll share.”

Jim smiled. He could do that. And not just for the pie. He had a feeling it might even be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basing David McCoy's inclusion in this story on his presentation in the IDW comics, which doesn't rule out the pyrrhoneuritis storyline for his character, but does suggest it hasn't happened yet/may not even happen in the AOS timeline.


End file.
